Taylor Lane
by That's not my name 303
Summary: Sherlock, is investigating some murders, he discovers a tea room which seems to be attracting a lot people and begins to visit regularly, Sherlock soon falls seriously Ill and it is up to John to determine what is best for him and try and solve the case.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

It was six o'clock, the sky above was steadily lighting as daylight drew closer, the clouds that were scattered across the sky suggested rain would soon be pounding the heavily worn pavement of West London. A bike speed across the slabs, its brakes squealing as it stopped abruptly. The paper boy reached into his bag, pulling out the newspaper, he ran quickly across the grass pushing it roughly through the letter box of the house before returning to his bike and heading back in the direction he came. On the other side of the door a hand grasped the paper, its headline read.

**Brewers Jealously**

**London's Cafe owners ask why Taylor Lane's Tearoom is increasing in popularity after changing hands; its doors see hundreds of people weekly, leaving competing shops dormant, many struggling for customers. The rise in popularity has already seen three neighbouring teashops close, several shop owners commenting on the lose of customers to their businesses. One Man remarked 'I was a regular to Janie's for twenty years, spending many a rainy night sat in their doors, only now I've discovered Taylor Lane's Tearoom and like many, I have become fond of it, I can't pin point what it is about the place, I just find myself returning each day, it gives me a feeling of happiness and I always feel welcome, something I haven't experienced for years. I mean don't get me wrong the other places are nice, but this is just something else.'**

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Sherlock sat stiffly in his chair, eagerly awaiting Johns return boredom had struck the intellectual man and sadly (for him at least) the highlight of his day was his flatmates return from where ever he had been each day. Today John had been out with Sarah, his utterly boring love interest. Sherlock failed to see what was so dazzling about her, considering himself somewhat more satisfying company, what with his wealth of knowledge, he thought himself to be a lot like God in some ways and what a privilege to spend the afternoon with 'God' it would be. Unfortunately, it was an offer John had declined.

The room in which Sherlock was situated was cluttered with various objects, some of which held such an Oder, John frequently felt the need to vomit, something which he had realised soon after moving in had to be suppressed if living with Sherlock was going to become a permanent arrangement.

John had gradually succumbed to Sherlock's way of life... and his manor, which could be said to be an acquired taste, never the less it was an arrangement which seemed to suit the pair and had therefore stuck.

Today Sherlock had gathered together a collection of rubber ducks all awaiting John's return at the foot of the door. This one of Sherlock's more laid back tricks. Today, the man was clearly in a good mood. When Sherlock was in a bad mood you could expect to find anything from eye balls to toes scattered around the flat.

A grin spread across his face as he heard the creaking steps, John had arrived home. Slowly, the door opened, John's foot hung in mid air for a few, brief seconds before landing heavily on top of one of the ducks, it squeaked in protest.

'Sherlock' Dr. Watsons voice rang out as he yelled his companions name.

Sherlock smiled his wind ups never grew old, always achieving the desired effect.

'Yes' he responded, cheerily.

'Pick up the ducks.' John groaned, bitterly.

'Why?' Sherlock questioned, he was going to drag this on for as long as possible.

John shook his head, hung his coat up and headed over to the kettle to make a drink; he wasn't going to play Sherlock's game today.

Like a small child Sherlock leapt up from his chair 'Somebody got up on the wrong side of the bed this morning, or should I say Sarah's bed this morning.' He added

'How did you...?' John dropped the end of his sentence, realising who he was talking to; Sherlock Holmes was bond to know that he hadn't returned home the previous night, Sherlock Holmes new everything.

'Well, your clothes are crumpled slightly, meaning they were slung down in a hurry, your shirt has a stain on it and normally you would put it straight in the wash. More obviously, your wearing the exact same underpants as you wore yesterday.' He answered.

'More obviously...' John stated, rather than questioned, confused.

'Your thinking how do I know what underpants you were wearing yesterday, well you got dressed in a rush because you were running late for your date.' He paused to wolf whistle enthusiastically, John rolled his eyes. 'You ironed your jeans in an attempt to look attractive for Sarah, leaving them folded on the chair, you went to get dressed only to realise they were in here and not in your room, you had no choice but to come and get them back, I was sat in my usual place reading an Agatha Christie novel, when you graced me with your presence, the image of you in your underwear scared me and was therefore imprinted into my memory permantly, therefore I can now recall what underwear you were wearing.'

'But how do you know what underwear I am wearing now?' John asked.

'Now, that was more simple, I merely looked down, noticing your open flies and thus could see you were wearing the same underwear you wore yesterday and quite frankly if you had been here and had gone out in the same underwear today that your wore yesterday it would be really unsanitary and I would be suggesting you change them as you could contract all manor of diseases, but seeing as you have a valid reason I won't go into that right now.' Sherlock winked at John

'Anyway how was your date with Sarah?' Sherlock sensed the conversation needed to change.

John was reluctant to say anything, although things had gone well last night... really well, things this morning had taken a turn for the worse. Sarah was silent and after grabbing something to eat John had made his way back to 221B Baker Street, anxious of a grilling from Sherlock.

'I see' Sherlock observed.

'What do you see?' John questioned, the kettle pinged as the water had boiled, John reached over and poured hot water into his cup.

'Oh nothing really' Sherlock began, teasing John.

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Below the door swung open Mrs. Hudson walked in wearing bright pink shoes and a coat. Her hat-also pink-had a feather pointing out from the top, it drooped slightly, suggesting it was windy outside. She hung her coat and hat up, slipped her shoes of and collected the post and newspaper from the letterbox. She leafed through the letters quickly before dividing them into two piles, the second pile she picked up, along with the newspaper and walked up the stairs to deliver the letters. Sherlock, although a self confessed genius was hopeless at collecting his post, meaning that unless Mrs. Hudson took it to him, his bills never got paid. Before she reached the top step Sherlock had flung the door open, his arms outstretched to embrace her, he liked to keep Mrs. Hudson on side.

'Mrs. Hudson' he beamed. 'What a wonderful day it is,' he added.

'Why, yes Sherlock it is' She agreed. 'Now here is your post' she said, passing it along with his newspaper. She glimpsed the headline. 'Oh yes, Sherlock.' She added 'You must visit this tearoom.' She pointed to the article on the front page as if her point wasn't clear enough. 'It's simply wonder fall, I've just returned from their myself.' She told him.

Sherlock's eyes were raised in curiosity. 'Really?' He said, as if to ask a question, only really he didn't want an answer. Mrs. Hudson opened her mouth to reply but Sherlock shut the door before she could get the words out.

She turned around to head back down the stairs. 'Strange man' she muttered to herself as she went.

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**Well that's chapter 1 it will take a bit to get up but trust me keep with it. Hope you like it and please review.**

**That's not my name 303**


	2. Chapter 2

**Hi all thank you for the reviews much appreciated here's the next chapter hope you enjoy and please review xx**

** oh yeah also just a quick note to say as it's Christmas I've not got that much studying to do but it could change after Christmas so my updates might be slower, but I will keep going fear not!**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing**

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Chapter 2

For days now Sherlock had been tempted to visit Taylor Lane's Tearoom, normally he wouldn't give a suggestion from Mrs. Hudson another thought but this seemed different, this place seemed special... and Sherlock wanted to find out why. What could compel so many people to visit one place merely because it had changed hands? The thing that kept bugging him was that although the cafe attracted a vast number of people, not everyone was drawn to it, it was almost like it was targeting people of a certain stereotype, admittedly it didn't seem to be doing the people that visited it any harm, but why were they so drawn to a specific tearoom? The media hype had made the cafe even more of a success; people going out of their way to visit... almost like a pilgrimage, but why? What did the place offer that others didn't? Sherlock felt the need to check the tearoom out, the suspense was killing him and he couldn't put visiting it of any longer. There was just one thing... visiting the tearoom would mean breaking a three day stance of starvation. Sherlock, would have to consume a beverage and possibly a cake, the horror of it all! The sacrifices he made for the sake of curiosity never failed to amaze him.

Grabbing his coat and scarf he left the flat, almost skipping in excitement, within minutes he had flagged down a cab, he climbed in. 'Taylor Lane Tearoom please' he directed the driver, who was staring at him with a peculiar expression on his face. Sherlock noticed this immediately, but took absolutely no notice, many people considered him to be strange but their thoughts didn't bother him, he had no time for the idle thoughts of nosy people who had nothing better to do with their time but analyse him.

The Journey took quite a while; Sherlock lived on the opposite side of London to the tearoom and he began to figit with impatience, like a normal day the traffic was heavy and the journey took a lot longer than Sherlock had anticipated. When the cab pulled up to a set of traffic lights Sherlock had just about had enough, having already had to follow two diversions because of closed roads.

'How far is Taylor Lane from here?' Sherlock asked the driver

'Bout three miles' he replied in a cockney accent.

Sherlock groaned, he could run the distance faster than this cab could drive him there, in that split second Sherlock decided that was what he was going to do, getting out of the cab, he tipped the driver and began to jog up the road, past the traffic lights that had now turned amber. He turned twice right and then ran straight up a narrow street a sign reading 'one way' signalled Sherlock didn't need to take much notice of the road.

Fifteen minutes later he had arrived on Taylor Lane, only to find a queue stretching half way down the road to the cafe entrance. Sherlock Holmes waited for no one; he jogged down the path until he reached the window of the shop, passing two boarded up windows as he went. He pressed his nose up against the misty window, the smell wafting through the open door was divine and the people sat at the tables in the entrance looked happy, wide smiles spread across their faces. Sherlock sensed a feeling of hunger in his stomach, making him hanker even more to be inside.

Behind what must be the till of the cafe stood a thin man, his eyes squinting, and his pale toned skin and build suggested to Sherlock that he was Chinese. His eyes focused in on the Cashiers name tag Ling-Sue it read, confirming the world's only consulting detective's suspicion.

He made his way to the door, squeezing in between two people, the crowd began to cry in protest at Sherlock's actions.

'Oi, we all want to get in what makes you so special?' one jeered.

Sherlock rolled his eyes in reply, but sensing he was about to get involved in something he would struggle to get out of with all his bones intact, he stepped aside, making his way to the back of the queue which was now stretching round the corner, he noticed a sign.

**Not got the time to stick around? **

**Ring and book a table. **

It read, Sherlock pulled his mobile out to note the number, his homepage notified him of three missed call's, each from Lestrade, then the phone began to buzz a fourth time, Sherlock picked it up on the second ring.

'Lestrade' he answered.

'Sherlock I need you' the detective told him anxiously. 'We've got a body and I need a second opinion.' He continued.

'You mean you need my opinion.' Sherlock chuckled.

'Erm, yes I suppose so, where are you? John's already here.'

'West London, Where do I need to be?' Sherlock replied.

'Outskirts, country lane difficult to explain I've sent someone to get you they should be there soon.' Lestrade told him.

'Oh I'll just wait around her then.' Sherlock replied deliberately sound perturbed.

He put the phone down; Lestrade had a habit of requesting his presence at the most inconvenient moments. Sherlock settled himself on a pair of steps and waited for the car to arrive.

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**So that's the second chapter, please review **

**That's not my name 303**


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Lestrade approached Sherlock, a reflective Jacket in one hand and a pair of wellington boots in the other. Lestrade himself was kitted out in similar attire. Sherlock had become extremely dubious of his surroundings since arriving at the crime scene, after leaving west London the weather had taken a turn for the worse, becoming wet and dreary, much like the mood that had overcome Sherlock. The consulting detective now felt very much out of his comfort zone.

'Welcome Sherlock.' Lestrade greeted him, 'get these on and follow me.'

Sherlock took one look at items and shut the car door that he had arrived in, if Lestrade thought he was wearing those things he'd got another thing coming.

'Come on Sherlock don't be stupid, what did you think I drove you down here for a cross country trip?' Lestrade gestured towards the door in an attempt to get Sherlock out.

Sherlock on the other hand reached over to the ignition taking the keys out, he pressed the button to lock the car doors, preventing anyone from getting in... Sherlock didn't like mud and he was going to do everything and anything to persuade Lestrade to sort the case out himself.

'Oh come on Sherlock your acting like a child.' Lestrade told him.

In reply Sherlock turned on the radio drowning Lestrade's moans out with the heavy metal tune blaring from the speakers.

The Inspector rolled his eyes at Sherlock's actions, he hadn't got time for this and the case needed to be solved, he began knocking on the window and shouting to try and get Sherlock to come round. Forensics stared at Lestrade like he'd lost his mind; the people working on the crime scene were trying to hide their smiles.

'Sherlock.' He yelled in frustration at the man who now had his fingers in his ears, his eyes squinted to shut out the outside world. 'Get John' Lestrade ordered one of the officers nearby, beads of sweat now showing on his forehead.

Fifteen minutes later and with a lot of persuasion, John managed to successfully get Sherlock out of the car, it was an amusing sight to see John hand in hand with a clearly nervous Sherlock and he supported him in an attempt to calm him down.

The body was situated a half a mile from the dirty track where all the cars were, John, Sherlock and Lestrade had to walk through the squelching muddy grass until they reached the ditch where the victim had been discovered, Sherlock made an attempt to run back several times and John had to convince him to stay. They then had to climb down into the depths of the ditch to get a good luck at the body. The quest to get Sherlock down into the ditch made easier by Lestrade's falling.

'Name?' Sherlock murmured.

'Jessie Edwards, investigative Journalist.' Lestrade answered.

The women's body was heavily battered, slashed from head to toe.

'Cause of death?' Sherlock looked to John.

'Most likely lacerations to the head, chest, legs, well everywhere really.' John replied.

Lestrade interjected 'Evidence sugges' he began.

'Evidence suggests the victim wasn't killed here.' Sherlock interrupted.

'How do you know?' John asked, despite working with Sherlock for what seemed like forever the Dr. couldn't help but ask the obvious questions.

'Well, look around her, there isn't any blood, meaning she didn't bleed out here, the wounds are still moist but not fresh and the body is limp, laying flat, if she'd been killed here she would of put up a fight and have been left in such a position not laid out perfectly as if she fell into the ditch.'

'Right, yes.' Lestrade and John agreed though, really they didn't understand.

'Now on to why' Sherlock grumbled to himself.

'Lestrade,' Sherlock turned to the investigator.

'Yes'

'You said her occupation was an investigative Journalist, how do you know?' He asked.

'ID, found in her bra stated her occupation.'

'Meaning, she kept it somewhere where it could be found in the event of her death, but not by who killed her, they wouldn't think to check the body for ID, but the killer would take her belongings like her bag. Have you found it?'

'No, sorry how do you know she had a bag.' Lestrade asked.

'Well, she's dressed as if she was out on a normal day, suggesting she was picked up by the killer, they followed her, if, like I suspect she was investigating something she'd have research with her, more importantly she would have her everyday items, mobile, purse and so on. But none of these are to be found, so the only sensible conclusion is that the killer took her bag and has dumped it somewhere, possibly nearby, as to what she was researching I don't think we will be anywhere near finding that out, as she was probably killed because of what she knew, yes we've established that. So the killer will have taken anything she had about her investigation in order to prevent what ever scheme it is being found out.' Sherlock paused.

'Right, thank you Sherlock, if you think of anything else call me, you can go.'

'And the bag?' Sherlock questioned.

'I will have my people look for it.' Lestrade reassured Sherlock.

'Come on Sherlock.' John beckoned his friend.

They climbed out of the ditch and headed back to 221B Baker Street to have a shower.

**Hope you like it please review!**

**That's not my name 303**

**Oh and btw : I don't own anything**

**Merry Xmas!**


	4. Chapter 4

John emerged from the bathroom freshly showered and wearing nothing but a towel across the lower half of his body, although he had a shower after visiting the crime scene yesterday, John felt the need to have another this morning, like he did every morning, something like a ritual for the Doctor, which Sherlock didn't feel the need to question.

Sherlock was sat in his usual position 'you're burning my eyes man' he yelled, making out he was falling of his chair. It was only then that John noticed Sherlock had his mobile to his ear 'on hold' he mouthed.

A sweet melody was playing as the detective waited to be served, it made him feel nauseas. The sound reminded him of a lullaby, Sherlock didn't like lullabies they reminded him of what he considered to be a difficult childhood.

Finally a lady answered 'Taylor lane tearooms how may I help you.'

'I'd like to book a table for 2 o'clock this afternoon'

'In what name?' she prompted him.

'Sherlock ... Sherlock Holmes' he told her.

'Yes sir, your table is booked we look forward to seeing you.'

With that Sherlock put the phone down.

Sherlock, now excited about his trip to the tearoom, began to ponder the murder case. The woman had been butchered because she knew too much, but what did she know? Where was her bag?

As if lestrade could read his mind Sherlock's mobile began to buzz he picked it up.

'Sherlock, we've found the bag' lestrade informed him. 'Only had the victims purse, keys, mobile and a coffee cup, empty no liquid to be found...'

'Suggesting she was concealing something in it which the killer found and took.' Sherlock interjected.

'Erm, yes well can you come down and take a look?' he asked.

Sherlock smiled 'Alas, I cannot John and I have plans, we're going out.'

From across the room John raised an eyebrow.

'Oh no not in that way' Sherlock added.

'Ok... Well come and see it when you can'

'Will do' Sherlock put the phone down.

John looked anxiously at Sherlock 'Where are we going?' he asked, signalling to Sherlock that John had taken no notice of his phone conversation, this meant the opportunity had raised for a game and Sherlock was going to play that game.

'Why we're going on a bit of a trip' he told him, trying to keep suspense.

Sherlock grabbed his coat and scarf 'come along' he instructed John.

'Er Sherlock can I get dressed first?' he questioned.

Sherlock looked up and down at the half naked John, he sighed, 'Yes I suppose so, but be quick.' he told him.

John disappeared into his room, Sherlock waited on the arm of the chair, his feet tapping the floorboards in impatience.

Sherlock new they had left the flat far too early, they still had two hours until they should arrive at the restaurant, but he was going to drag this game out for a bit longer yet.

Soon John emerged, fully clothed and the pair left 221b Baker Street on route to Taylor lane's tearoom, John none the wiser about where Sherlock was taking him.

Unusually, Sherlock chose to walk to their destination, or a least to begin with as there was no taxi in sight. John had a look of confusion spread across his face, but he didn't dare ask Sherlock where they were going again, Sherlock didn't like questions, especially repetitive questions.

Suddenly Sherlock turned sharply, hitting the wall.

'Well, that was unexpected.' He remarked, holding his head.

'Sherlock, why did you just walk into a wall?' John asked.

'Shush.' Sherlock instructed him, holding a finger to his lips, but it was to late the harsh noise of brakes screeching could be heard.

'Get into the bin.' Sherlock told John, gesturing towards a large green rubbish bin near them.

John did as he was told, Sherlock held himself stiffly against the wall, keeping within the shadows; he wasn't getting in a bin.

Footsteps creeped up until they stood opposite Sherlock,

'Hello Sherlock.' The voice greeted him eerily. 'Are you going to come with me voluntarily or will my little friends have to help you out.'

'Well, you see about that, it's not a good time really, I've got plans.' Sherlock replied.

'Well, Sherlock either way your plans are going to be delayed so I would stop messing around and pick the first of my options.'

'I'd rather not.'

'Sherlock.' The high pitched voice yelled.

Sherlock sighed, reluctantly stepping out of the shadows.

'Good boy, now look how easy things are when you do as I say, come along.' The figure headed towards the open door of the car he had arrived in. 'Oh and Sherlock, don't forget your friend.' He added.

'John.' Sherlock beckoned, his companion was soon by his side, admittedly slightly dirtier than before, John now realised his shower had been in vain.

'Follow me.' The figure ordered them, they all slided comfortably, Sherlock and John unwillingly in to the back seat.

Sherlock pulled his phone from his pocket.

_Lestrade I need you. SH_, he texted

He got a response immediately

_Where are you? L_

_Don't know en-route, can you track me? SH_

_Possibly, I'll give it a go get back to ASAP L_

_I might be dead by then SH_

Sherlock new the later message was a slight exaggeration, but it would get Lestrade to move quickly, honestly Sherlock didn't really need the inspectors help, but it would be faster in the long run to use the police to his advantage.

'Is this your new boyfriend?' The man questioned.

John sat uncomfortably in his seat 'Why does everybody draw that conclusion?' he asked.

'Because it's the truth and you know it.' The figure replied. 'Strictly speaking if you weren't already infatuated with my brother then I'd steal you for myself.'

John hadn't realised it was Mycroft, they had only met briefly, barley exchanging hands, on that occasion Sherlock's brother hadn't queried him about choice of companions,infact John didn't think Mycroft had even noticed him, as he had put it 'There were more pressing matters at hand.'

Of course Mycroft had been overstating the problem, as from what John gathered from Sherlock he always did.

Sherlock hadn't said one word to his brother since they got in the car, but Mycroft's presence, certainly justified why the World's only consulting detective seemed quite laid back considering the situation they had been landed in.

They pulled into the entrance of a warehouse; Sherlock had already taken note of the road.

_Lestrade we're at an old warehouse on Highgate road get here soon. SH _

They got out of the car and headed into the entrance of the warehouse, the air was bitterly cold and the iron gates moved slowly and stiffly, preventing them from getting into what Sherlock hoped would be a warm interior. They eventually made their way in.

'Take a seat.' Mycroft gestured towards two rather uncomfortable looking stools kept against one wall.

They sat not wishing to get on Mycroft's bad side; he already seemed in a bad mood.

'What do you want Mycroft.' Sherlock confronted his brother.

'Why nothing, merely the opportunity to catch up, dear pal.'

Sherlock had to stop himself from lashing out. 'Mycroft what do you want with me, tell me straight.'

'Well that wouldn't be much fun now would it?'

'Mycroft' Sherlock Yelled.

'My my Sherlock got quite a temper when it suits you.'

'What do you want.'

'I'm just checking up on my little brother, I wouldn't be keeping Mummy's promise if I didn't.'

'And what would that be.'

'To always keep any eye on you.'

'Well now you've seen me so let me go.'

Sirens could be heard approaching, Mycroft looked startled but not deterred.

'Called our little friends out have we?' He asked.

'Could little old Sherlock not hold his own in front of his big brother.'

Footsteps approached, then a bashing against the old doors began, Lestrade was in in minutes.

'Very well then as much as I've enjoyed this experience it seems we will be departing once again.' Sherlock leapt up from his stool.

'I hope to see you again soon little brother.' Mycroft told him.

John and Sherlock were quick to leave the warehouse, neither of them new what Mycroft wanted but they didn't want to stick around and find out. Sherlock wasn't going to dwell on the meeting with his brother, he had better things to do with his time and Mycroft wasn't at all threatening (although he'd like to be) just a complete inconvience and he knew it.

**Hope you liked it please review, suggestions welcome**

**That's not my name 303**


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

After much arguing with Lestrade, Sherlock finally managed to persuade him to let them go, infact with his charm and wit Sherlock managed to secure a car to take John and him to Taylor Lane's Tearoom, that was if he promised to go and look at the murder victims bag the following day. The journey to the restaurant took hardly any time at all and Sherlock found himself sitting in the comfortable surroundings of the tearoom, made more welcoming by the plush cushions that sat on each chair. Feeling somewhat privileged as he looked outside, seeing all the people eagerly awaiting their turn to try the famous brews.

'What do you think Mycroft wanted?' John asked, interrupting Sherlock's thoughts.

The consultant detective rolled his eyes, taking a sip of his tea. 'I really have not a care in the world for my brother's problems, Mycroft... or Microsoft as a now like to call him has always been a unkindly soul, he has always used people to get what he wants and then when he get's it he goes back to ignoring you, having a position in government has only boosted my brothers rather large ego and unlike me I do not think he has any sort of compassion.'

'Microsoft, why Microsoft? You do realise that's a type of computer software.' John questioned him.

'I do and because, like computers, Mycroft has no emotion, no feeling he is heartless, that's what makes him such a good politician.'

'Ok... what do you think of your tea?'

'At first it gave me the sensation of vomiting but the flavours then intensified and grew on me, I feel warm, happy, I think I it has improved my mood.'

'Wow, who could have thought a cup of tea could change Sherlock Holmes.'

'Hardly, still the same Sherlock just a little happier.'

'Really? Sherlock, you're aware of how much of an acquired taste your character can be, you seem from what I gather, far more tolerable than usual.'

'No, don't be daft.' He replied.

'I can't say it's had such an effect on me, it tastes...' he lowered his tone, 'quite revolting.'

'Now you see John, this is where you taste buds fall short; you clearly do not have such brilliant senses as I, meaning this quite wonderful brew doesn't appeal to you.'

'Seriously Sherlock, you're almost acting like... like your drunk.'

'Nooooooooooo, me? It has merely helped me to relax, allowing me to reveal my true nature, if anything John it proves to you that I trust you because I can show you who I really am.'

'If you say so Sherlock.' John was somewhat sceptical.

John looked around the scene reminded him of his grandma's living room rather than a restaurant, their were various photos scattered around on the walls and so fourth, of whom John didn't know, there were also lots of paintings one on the far wall showed a flower in a vase, it's base pink, the flowers blue and the background green, John thought, much like the tea the painting was an acquired taste. The chairs were old and made of oak wood, with pink backs and seat cushions, the tables covered in a floral yellow table cloth, which John considered to be quite Gordy. Sherlock on the other hand seemed to be loving the place, why John wasn't sure, this was the sort of environment he would usually avoid and on entering completely slash, not taking in to account the people who owned it's feelings. Sherlock never failed to amaze.

'Can we go home now Sherlock?' John finally found the courage to ask the consulting detective, who had now consumed three cups of tea and two cakes.

Sherlock nodded, 'yes, but let me get a tea to take away.' he agreed.

As they left the cafe John could have sworn Sherlock was skipping, but then that wasn't unusual, he wondered why he'd become so sceptical of everything so suddenly but he figured it was since living with Sherlock, he taught John to stop being so naive, nothing was ever what it seemed, that's what Sherlock said. Yet the detective seemed to have let his guard down, he wasn't worried, he was happy so who was John to be a scrooge and ruin his day, perhaps their meeting with Mycroft had shook him up more than he liked to let on. Yes that was probably what it was.

John glanced at his watch it was six o'clock, they had spent over three hours in the tearoom.

There was a sudden clatter John looked up, only to see Sherlock a heaped mess on the floor giggling happily to himself. 'Do you need a hand their Sherlock?' he asked.

'No, I'm fine' Sherlock insisted, pulling himself up, he hadn't noticed the remainder of his tea spilling into the gutter.

Sherlock stood up dusted himself of and walked straight into an off licence. John froze, confused, Sherlock returned a bottle of vodka in his hand.

'Sherlock you don't drink.' John told him.

'I do now.' He replied, unscrewing the bottle and pouring it into his mouth, some of its contents spilling down his shirt.

'I think we're get a taxi.' John told Sherlock, waving frantically at a nearby cab. John struck lucky and the car pulled up, he opened the door and persuaded Sherlock to climb in.

An hour later they pulled up outside 221B Baker Street, by this time Sherlock had drained the vodka bottle, something was troubling him but John didn't know what. He tipped the taxi driver who had had to deal with Sherlock's rude remarks, aimed at him and followed a stumbling Sherlock up inside.

It was now eight o'clock and Sherlock was very drunk, his shirt now sodden with Vodka, he reeked, John managed to help him pull it of before he threw up all over him.

'Sorry' Sherlock muttered, his face turned green, he was going to throw up again, John managed to drag Sherlock to the toilet in time, he held his face into the basin, leaving him there a minute, John stripped his own shirt off before running a bath for Sherlock, a tiny amount of water flowed into the bath before John turned the tap of he didn't want Sherlock to drown himself, just to be clean before he went to bed. He hadn't had to clear up after somebody since he was a child, trying to help his drunken mother; John put the memory to the back of his mind.

'Sherlock I've run you a bath so you can clean up.' John told him, in response Sherlock began to strip, John made sure he was safely in the bath before stripping himself and having a shower, he too stank what with his venture into a dustbin and the added perfume of Sherlock's vomit. He emerged five minutes later to find Sherlock analysing a rubber duck and what must have been a pig's heart... he hoped, one in each hand. John hadn't checked to see if Sherlock had been experimenting in the bath tub, he was tired and he hadn't thought it through. Sherlock then threw the Duck behind him and held the heart in two hands. John went to the kitchen grabbed a plastic bag and attempted to persuade Sherlock to put the heart in the bag, after much arguing on John's part Sherlock finally did as he was told.

John placed the bag in the freezer with all the other organ's Sherlock had collected and returned to the bathroom. Sherlock's lip was upturned like a small child who had just been told he couldn't have something, John checked the water, it was still clean so where Sherlock had got the heart from he didn't know, but it didn't matter for the minute. John grabbed the cup that sat on the side of the bath and poured the water over Sherlock until he was clean; he helped him out and left him with a towel to dry him of as he went to get Sherlock some clothes. Sure enough Sherlock Holmes owned one pair of pyjamas and it was with much searching that John finally found them; he helped Sherlock into them and lead him into his bedroom.

Sherlock climbed into bed, John could have sworn he was sucking his thumb.

'I love you John' Sherlock told him.

'Yes Sherlock.' John agreed, he wasn't sure what to say 'Night Sherlock.' John told him before leaving his room to go to bed himself.

**Hope you liked it please review and tell me what you think**

**That's not my name 303.**

'


	6. Chapter 6

**So I know it's a long time since I uploaded anything, I totally forgot, anyway here is the chapter tell me what you think! **

**That's not my name 303**

* * *

Chapter 6

Sherlock had visited the tearoom many times in the past few weeks, John on the other hand had passed any opportunity to go with Sherlock to the cafe, God he hated it. He had noticed a change in Sherlock, weather this change was for the better or not he couldn't be sure, he seemed... happy.

Lestrade was impressed on how many cases he had managed to close recently and Mycroft hadn't been mentioned once, neither had he made an appearance since they last spoke. Everything seemed on the up for Sherlock. John begged to differ becoming increasingly worried about his friend, never had Sherlock seemed so ... different, it was frightening, the speed that he had changed.

But there was nothing he could do about it... as stubborn as ever, Sherlock would not back down and despite the number of cases he had solved their was one that remained to be, Sherlock seemed unworried about it. The case of Jessie Edwards had never been closed.

The door slammed and for the fifth time this week Sherlock virtually danced into the flat, laughing and giggling like a small child. John rolled his eyes and disappeared into his bedroom.

Five minutes later Sherlock paraded in just as John had. 'How are you today Jean.' He questioned.

'It's John' John muttered.

'Oh let your hair down John.' Sherlock began; John sensed a lecture coming on. 'Just see what fun you could have if you joined me John, open up your eyes and embrace the world.' Sherlock continued.

'I don't want to embrace the world Sherlock.' John spoke harshly.

'Oh such a spoil sport.' Sherlock sneered.

'No wonder Sarah was such a turn on.'

John rose from his seat 'You Ba...' he held himself back, sensing he was becoming someone that he didn't want to be.

There was a loud banging noise as Sherlock fell to the floor 'Oppsy daisy' he giggled. 'Sherlocks had a bit of an accident me thinks.'

John hated it when Sherlock made a fool out of himself but he just wouldn't listen, people thought he was strange anyway so his public appearance wasn't battered. He pulled Sherlock up of the floor, only for his flatmate to gallop of in another direction.

John followed him, concerned to what he would do next; this was getting out of hand.

A figure walked towards the desk his hand outstretched.

'This is what you wanted boss.' The person conversed.

'Ahhh you've done well my friend.' He replied.

He put the memory stick into the computer a few seconds later a window popped up, several documents were available, they were all selected and then the person right clicked and selected delete.

'We shouldn't get any trouble now.' He chuckled.

That night, John noticed another change in Sherlock he became unsettled, less content. As usual they went to sleep in their separate beds, they both soon settled but Sherlock tossed and turned for a lot of the night.

At three o'clock in the morning John was awoken by a blood curdling scream, he ran straight out into a pitch dark living room, as he turned the light on and realised that their had been no sort of disturbance, everything was as it should be.

Only the scream soon rang out again 'Sherlock' John shouted, but he got no response, he made his way to Sherlock's bedroom, he looked awful, beads of sweat dripping down his face, yet Sherlock was still asleep.

'Sherlock, Sherlock wake up' John yelled.

'No no no don't.'

'Sherlock, it's me it's John, your fine calm down.'

'J-o-h-n?' He stammered, unsure.

'Yes Sherlock, your safe now.'

John made Sherlock a cup of tea and sat by him.

'What was up?' John asked, eventually breaking the silence between them.

'I d-r-e-a-m-e-d about my dad.' Sherlock told him, clapping a hand to his mouth before he could say anymore.

'What about him?' John asked confused, Sherlock had never mentioned his farther.

'I- I- I Don't like to t-a-l-k about him.' Sherlock told him.

'It might help.' John encouraged him.

Sherlock gulped 'he used to hit me and worse.'

John gasped 'Sherlock I'm so sorry' he began but Sherlock put a hand up to stop him.

'It's not your fault is it?' He told him.

'No, I suppose not.' John muttered, thinking about it an abusive background explained a lot about Sherlock, how odd he was, why he found making friendships difficult, that sort of thing.

'I'm alright now,' Sherlock told him, wishing him to go.

'Alright, but if you need me come and find me.' He agreed

John returned to bed, things were certainly strange, but he couldn't understand why, he didn't sleep for the rest of the night, neither did Sherlock but that was understandable.


	7. Chapter 7

**Just a quick note to say thank you to my readers! Oh and an alert: I have exams currently so sorry for the slow update**

**Happy reading!**

Chapter 7

'Yes and thank you' John said goodbye as he left Mrs Hudson's flat, he headed up stairs. Sherlock had shut John out since revealing to him that he had had an abusive childhood. John was lonely and had decided to spend time with Mrs Hudson; she was better company than sitting alone upstairs. Sherlock was seldom in the house. John would move out but he found it more comforting to stay and keep an eye on Sherlock as despite not getting along he didn't feel it right to desert Sherlock, John was loyal through and through only he couldn't work out weather that was one of his stronger qualities given the current circumstances. His heart ached for the real Sherlock to come through the doors. But he realised this was a slim possibility and didn't dwell on the thought for to long.

He washed up the dishes that had been discarded in the sink and sat down with one of his favourite crime novels, the time soon passed. It grew dark and John received a phone call he answered straight away, hoping it was

Sherlock, but he was disappointed as it was Lestrade, then John feared the worst.

'Hello Lestrade' he stuttered 'what do you want?'

'I rang to see if you've heard from Sherlock, only I've been trying to locate him all day and been unsuccessful in my attempts.'

'No I don't know where he is, sorry.' John told him, 'but have you tried his mobile.'

'Well err that's the thing I've got his mobile we found it in a bin on Oxford street.' Lestrade's tone of voice had now changed.

'What you've got Sherlock's phone well he must be in danger I'll come down and help you look for him.' John said frantically, grabbing his coat and keys.

'No you stay there in case he comes back I've got a search team looking for

him.'

'Ok, well keep me informed on your progress.' John agreed putting the phone

down.

He was so worried about Sherlock, this was so out of character for

him, mind you his behaviour in the past few weeks as a whole had been extremely out of character. John stayed up for as long as he could but he'd become so tired his eyes were closing. He concluded that going to bed would be the best option and then he would be awake enough to join the search in the morning, he glanced at the clock, it was only eleven but he couldn't stay up any longer.

Nervously, he climbed into bed and soon fell asleep.

At two am he awoke suddenly, their was an array of flashing blue lights. Fearful of Sherlock's well being, he pulled on his dressing gown and ran downstairs and outside, it was a cold night and on any other occasion he would have gone back into the warm but this was Sherlock's life that was in question, John never believed he would be thinking such a thought but here he was doing exactly that. Lestrade met him in the street, he gestured towards the end of the street 'I think we've found Sherlock' he told John '...alive' he added. 'Neighbour reported a man staggering down the street matching Sherlock's description, albeit slightly deranged, John raised an eyebrow but at this burst of good news pelted himself down the road in the direction Lestrade had pointed in, he couldn't see Sherlock but he must be down there, Lestrade wouldn't lie to him… would he?

'Sherlock, Sherlock' he yelled as he approached the figure said to be his

friend, only he paused as he got closer, knelt down in the middle of the road was a screaming Sherlock, wailing and moaning at any officer that tried to approach him, Lestrade came up behind him, panting, John must have been running for longer than he thought, but he hadn't been concentrating, he had to know Sherlock was ok.

'John I tried to stop you but you ran, Sherlock isn't his normal self, he isn't in a good way, obviously ill, I didn't want you to see him like that, that's why I hadn't woken you up, I thought I'd get you in the morning when he was in a fit state to be seen.' John's eyes grew wide with the sight of Sherlock, clearly he was in shock but Lestrade continued.

'We've called for a medical team to come and sedate him, because he keeps attacking anyone that gets close, he's violently dangerous, they'll examine him and determine what's best for him; to be honest I don't think he knows who we are or who he is.' Lestrade meant to comfort John with this information but it just went in one ear and out the other, John couldn't take anything in, just then an ambulance pulled up nearby, two paramedics climbed out and ran towards a crying Sherlock, one took out an injection and plunged it into Sherlock's skin, the other held him down, within seconds he fell silent and was then lugged into the back of an ambulance.

John felt helpless but what could he do, he looked upon the scene feeling like it wasn't happening to him but to someone else and he was on looking. John Felt his knees buckle and then he blacked out.


	8. Chapter 8

**Back Finally!**

Chapter 8

John didn't know what to do as he paced frantically down the corridor for the fifth time that week.

"John just sit" beckoned Lestrade.

Unusually, John did as he was told but only because he wasn't in the mood for another lecture about how Lestrade could deal with things and he could just go home and sleep. John new that was the case, it didn't make things any easier on him, after all it was his fault.

John sighed as Lestrade opened his mouth to speak, emitting the same nonsense about how without Sherlock there were no cases, or rather no cases could be solved so it really wasn't any trouble for Lestrade to stay and after all he had nowhere else to be.

That was it John just sprung out of his seat.

"Look, I know you mean well but I'm staying" He told him, a little too loudly, as people walking turned to stare. John was looking a little worse for wear; he needed little else to attract the attention of nosy passersby.

A man in fresh green scrubs squeaked down the corridor towards them, a file in his left hand.

"Mr Watson, Mr Lestrade" He said acknowledging and nodding. "Would you like to talk in my office" he said, gesturing to the room behind them.

Lestrade and John nodded, somewhat an inability to speak amongst them.

The doctor smiled understandingly and led them through, silently they sat for a few moments before he began to speak.

"As you know previous results were inconclusive" The Doctor began.

John nodded impatient, urging the man to get to the point.

"But results have proved a little more informative this time." He continued. "It seems Mr Holmes condition is being brought about by some sort of drug, found in his system."

"What does that mean then?" John interrupted.

The doctor looked at John and then at Lestrade, seeming unsure about how he should continue.

"Do you know of the possibility that Mr Holmes could have been consuming a drug?"

Lestrade knew John was too tired but he couldn't stop him. Watson rose from his seat, his fist hitting the desk.

"What are you trying to say?" He started. "You don't know Sherlock what sort of accusation are you making?" He questioned. "Sherlock is a law abiding citizen-"John felt a hand on his shoulder, warning him to stop, he'd gotten carried away.

"As that may be, sometimes situations affect people, they get involved in things they shouldn't and-"

"No, Sherlock doesn't do drugs." John shouted he was furious; at least he was willing to stand up for his friend.

The doctor sighed, clearly anticipating such a reaction, he turned to Lestrade.

"In your opinion, how high is the possibility that Mr Holmes is a user?"

"Very, unlikely" Lestrade replied instantly, but then he thought, it did seem a reasonable explanation for Sherlock's behaviour. He had always been so strange.

But he kept that thought to himself.

"Well then, we need to assume that Mr Holmes is being poisoned and obviously that will involve an investigation..."

"An investigation that I will conduct immediately" Lestrade interrupted, suddenly realising that he didn't even know where to begin.

"Very Well" the doctor agreed, all three rose from their seats and left the office, Lestrade and Watson shook the doctors hand, thanking him for his help.

"Can I see Sherlock?" John asked just before they left.

"Unfortunately, not we treat drug patients in isolation; contact with the outside world tends to delay the healing process. But I can assure you that Mr Holmes is stable and in good hands" The doctor replied.

John wanted to protest but he thought better of it "Ok, well thank you" he said and followed Lestrade out.

"We'll keep you up to date on his progress" the doctor tried to assure him. But John had gone.

* * *

In the car, John sat in a world of his own, worrying about Sherlock and blaming himself.

"It's not your fault." Lestrade told him, as if reading his mind. "There's motive, someone was out to get him." Lestrade aimed to reassure him, but this did little.

"Exactly so if they were out to get Sherlock, they might be out to get me." John argued.

"Well, if your that worried you can come and stay with me," Lestrade told him.

John nodded his words silent over the ring of Lestrades phone. The inspector took it from his pocket and passed it to John.

John accepted the call "Lestrades phone." He groaned.

"Hi, it's Phil from the morgue err who's this?" he asked.

"John Watson"

"Can I speak to Lestrade"

"He's driving, he's asked me to relay the message" John groaned, wishing the man would get to the point.

"Ok", the man sounded sceptical, so John put him on speaker phone.

"Lestrade here" The detective inspector told him. "What's up?"

"Can you get to the morgue, we've got a body, interesting case, looks like an overdose but nobody understands what the drug is, and it's looking suspicious." The man told him.

"Give me ten minutes" Lestrade informed him, John cut the call.

"Do you know what this means?" John said, giddy with excitement.

"I know what it could mean but let's not get our hopes up." He said to John.

"Always the kill joy." He replied, seeming somewhat happier.

They continued in silence both knowing Sherlock might get help sooner than they thought.

**It's been so long! Happy reading R and R**


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